


soufflé

by v10l3t_jpg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Coma, Confusion, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is not the Chesapeake Ripper, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Panic Attacks, Spooning, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, disorientation, food as a love language, unreality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v10l3t_jpg/pseuds/v10l3t_jpg
Summary: Will wakes up the hospital, confused, disoriented, and with a very loose grip on reality. As his luck would have it, his only immediate source of support is the man he believes to be a monster.Incredibly self indulgent AU(?) where Hannibal is not the Chesapeake Ripper or a manipulative bastard, and Hannigram have a healthy supportive loving relationship. Alternative title: I'm soft for Apéritif.
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Beverly Katz & Jimmy Price & Brian Zeller, Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Beverly Katz, Will Graham & Beverly Katz & Jimmy Price & Brian Zeller, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98





	1. cerveau

**Author's Note:**

> In conclusion: I have taken out the darkest parts of Hannibal's character and left him as a fruity literature nerd who loves taking care of and cooking for his sweaty confused profiler. Alternate universe where Season 2 essentially didn't happen and Mizumono unfolded in a very different way.

Will sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. The initial grogginess of waking had faded, replaced by jittery irritation. He squeezes his eyes shut against the harsh daylight filtering into the hospital room, too bright against the stark white walls. 

The steady beep of the heart rate monitor is starting to grate on his nerves. He fidgets with the blanket, running his fingers over the thin blue wool to distract himself from his swimming head. 

His mind is a seething storm on the sea and he's desperately clinging to the ship's starboard, trying to remember how he got here, to distinguish reality from delusion. 

Will flinches at the sight of the needle disappearing into his arm, too similar to the slash of a hunting knife across soft flesh. He thinks of Abigail, tears in her doe eyes as she pleads with him not to kill her. He remembers the blade ripping through her throat and feels sour bile rise in his own.

Will wonders if the stag will stop haunting him now. He wonders if it will take the memory of blood thickening on his hands with it. 

He swallows thickly, throat still stinging from the extubation, and tries to steady his breathing by twisting the hospital bracelet around his wrist. The door squeaks open. Will glances up, expecting another nurse, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Hello, Will. Nice to see you lucid." Hannibal's smile is genuine and bright, reaching up to crinkle the corners of his tired eyes. 

He's well presented, as Hannibal always is, albeit with a casual air - woollen pullover, neat hair, leather shoes. But underneath the polished exterior is thinly veiled worry, visible lost sleep over Will. 

Will scrambles into a sitting position, terrified eyes huge and glistening like he's seen a ghost. His lip quivers, trying to dislodge the words in his throat and force them out of his dry mouth. "Hannibal?"

Will is torn between relief that Hannibal is alive, and terror that he may be a murderer. 

Under ordinary circumstances, Will would be delighted to see him - as a friend, lover, or psychiatrist - but he's learned of a darker side to Hannibal. A manipulative, murderous, monster. 

The Chesapeake Ripper's crime scene photos flash through Will's mind, spliced with meals at Hannibal's table. Missing lungs, livers, limbs. Blood and braised meat. Artisan brutality, cultivated violence. 

The lion is in the room.

Smiling warmly, Hannibal takes barely two steps across the sterile floor before Will yelps "Don't! Don't come any closer!"

Hannibal pauses, hovering warily as his face falls. Will half wishes he had any kind of makeshift weapon to defend himself with, despite how poorly that had ended last time - steel tearing through Hannibal's gut, wet blood on his hands, red as sin - but all the bedside table offers is Will's glasses and a copy of The Iliad.

"Are you the Chesapeake Ripper?" Will barks, resenting the piercing panic in his voice, his empty hands, the tears clouding his vision.

"No." Hannibal responds calmly, but this only seems to upset Will more, the constant tone of the heart monitor growing rapid.

"No, please don't lie to me!" Will sobs, defenceless and confused, breathing uneven and shallow as tears spill down his cheeks. He buries his face in his shaking hands in a half hearted attempt to hide from the blood roaring in his ears.

Is this _his_ Hannibal, falling asleep holding Abigail Hobbs' comatose hand, eyes warm with love as he watches Will enjoy his cooking? Or is this the Chesapeake Ripper, shoving Abigail's cold severed ear down his throat, knowing smile on his lips as he watches Will chew human flesh?

Hannibal, well versed in self-control, swallows down the urge to bundle Will into his arms and never let him go again. He settles for approaching the bed with a graceful urgency. 

"I'm not a killer, Will. Let me help you." Hannibal says softly, gently squeezing Will's heaving shoulder, grounding him to reality.

"I don't know what's real." Will whimpers, chest burning from crying. He's never felt more unstable, more out of control, and he _hates_ it - hates how difficult it is to determine which parts of the past few months he's imagined.

How many memories are false? Did he kill Abigail? Kissing Hannibal in his office, and the taste of red wine on his lips, was that real? Incredible vibrant Beverly dissected, pressed between plates of glass like an insect specimen - or Alana, spine shattered, surrounded by splintered fragments of glass - which broken body, which gaping loss is real?

He feels like he's driving a car that's about to crash, cold fear and anticipation burning in his gut.

A change in pressure on the mattress startles him - Hannibal a little too close for comfort. Will looks up in panic, pressing his back against the cool plastic headboard.

"I'm real, Will. My love for you is real." Will lets out a breathy unconvinced laugh, but there's something genuine in the warm depths of Hannibal's brown eyes that makes him relax ever so slightly.

"There is no Chesapeake Ripper; nothing laying in wait in the shadows, coiled and ready to strike. Nothing is going to harm you, Will. I won't let it." Hannibal soothes. He reaches for Will's hand, but Will pulls him closer by his sleeve, places a shaking hand on his sturdy bicep. 

"You promise?" he whispers, eyes scanning Hannibal's face frantically, and neither of them need to clarify the depth of what he's asking.

"I swear on my life." Hannibal smiles tearfully, slender thumb stroking across Will's stubbled cheek.

Seeming to come back to himself, Will reaches for him, desperate to hold him closer like a child frightened by a nightmare. Trembling hands seek comfort first on his forearm, then on his cheek.

Will presses their foreheads together, raggedly breathing in what Hannibal breathes out. In the safety of Hannibal's strong arms, Will lets the tears fall again. He buries his face in the crook of Hannibal's neck, tightening his grip on the back of his jacket. 

"I thought I killed you." he grits out through tears, as Hannibal strokes his hair where he's cradling the back of Will's head.

"I'm here, Will, you're safe." Hannibal murmurs, voice gentle and warm beside his ear. Will runs his hand up and down Hannibal's solid bicep, squeezing as if to reassure himself the man in front of him is not a hallucination or trick of the light.

Needing a second to reset, Will inhales Hannibal's comforting scent for a while. He grounds himself with the warmth of Hannibal's skin, the amber notes of his expensive cologne, his dexterous fingers in Will's hair. 

His thoughts begin to settle, growing confident that he's safe in the company of a man who has never tasted human flesh. Some thoughts stay violently loud, thrumming in his amygdala and worming their way into his cerebellum, demanding to be heard. 

"Is Abigail ok? A-Alana? Jack?" he asks desperately against Hannibal's shoulder, voice still rough from disuse. 

Hannibal pulls back to study Will's face, the cold white light forming a half-halo on his hair and illuminating the flecks of hazel in his eyes. His brow dips slightly, puzzled. "They're all fine."

Will blinks, caught off guard. He nods slowly, processing. His tense shoulders ease as relief floods his body. 

It feels strange to be grateful for a nightmare, but he'd rather have imaginary blood on his hands than the knowledge that he's responsible for several bodies in the morgue. Bodies of friends, and family.

Will looks up, brow creasing, as Hannibal's warmth is pulled away. Lips press a delicate kiss to his damp forehead as Hannibal rises and resituates himself in the bedside chair.

"Some space to breathe." he explains, seeing the scandalised look on Will's face. Begrudgingly, Will nods - while he wants Hannibal close, he can't blame him for being wary.

The doctor settles back and crosses his long legs, concerned curiosity glinting in his eyes. "Will, if you're feeling up to it, would you mind telling me your version of events? I think it could clear up some confusion for both of us." 

Will nods again, shifting his weight. "Yeah, uh… I remember driving to your place to confront you. I believed you were the Chesapeake Ripper. I'm… _almost_ sure now that you're not."

"This was a case Jack had you working on?" Hannibal asks, one eyebrow elegantly arched, watching Will anxiously toy with the blanket.

"Yes. Jack was… highly motivated to solve the case because he felt he could have done more to save an FBI trainee, um… Miriam Lass, from the Ripper." Will says carefully, sifting through fact and fiction.

"The Ripper _killed_ Miriam Lass?" Hannibal blinks in surprise, pausing in the middle of adjusting his posture.

"And Beverly Katz. Many others." Will continues through gritted teeth, flinching away from the memory.

"Do you remember any details from the murders?" presses Hannibal, partly out of morbid curiosity about the intricate fantasy Will's burning brain has created.

Will only remembers a few blurry details, pausing and stuttering as he reconstructs for Hannibal his own crimes - the tongue bookmarking a Bible, the corpse littered with drill bits and blades, half of a man sitting opposite himself on a school bus.

"There were organs removed in all of them, surgical knowledge, and the bodies were always displayed. Beverly-" Will stretches his jaw, blinking rapidly like the memory hurts him. "-was cut into slices and displayed between sheets of glass." 

"I see." Hannibal considers this as he waits for Will's breathing to steady. "Please continue." 

"I don't- I don't remember going in. I attacked Jack in the kitchen, he believed that I was the Ripper because you had framed me for your crimes, made it look... like I had killed and _cannibalised_ Abigail Hobbs."

Will's brow furrows and twitches, eyes searching as he tries to describe the scene in his head. The look of sheer terror in Alana's eyes as she plummets, the sound of Abigail choking on her own blood for the second time in her young life.

"We… We roughed each other up pretty bad. He tried to strangle me with his tie and I stabbed him in the neck with a shard of glass." Will pauses his anxious storytelling to clear his throat, guilt in his restless eyes. 

"He hid in the pantry... I was trying to break through the door when Alana tried to shoot me, but the gun jammed or-or-or there were no bullets in it, I don't know, but I chased her upstairs. And I pushed her out of the second floor window." Will flinches away from the sound of shattering glass, takes a shuddering breath. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling, blinking away tears. 

The sight of Will so confused, so vulnerable, makes Hannibal's chest ache. He wishes he could act as a balm for Will's suffering, soothe his feverish mind and take the fear from him - but he has to keep pushing to get the full picture, making Will endure just a while longer.

"And then?"

"Abigail appeared from behind me. You had my head so twisted, I couldn't tell which direction I was pointing," he laughs bitterly. "And I couldn't be sure that I _hadn't_ killed her. I was so relieved to see her, but she was afraid of me. And she ran. I.. I-I chased her back down into the kitchen."

Will takes a sharp inhale, remembering her struggling against his arms like the first time he saw her. He runs a hand down his face, leaving it over his mouth for a moment, as if wanting just a few more seconds before he has to admit to the horror of what he's done. 

Turning his head to avoid Hannibal's eyes, he makes his final confession. "I slit her throat just like her father did, and then I gutted you. Don't remember anything after that."

Hannibal is silent for a long moment, digesting this information. The startled look of concern on his usually composed face makes anxiety rise in Will's stomach.

"Hannibal, tell me what happened. Did I hurt anybody?" Will pleads, blue eyes filled with terrified tears as he clings to Hannibal's hand like a lifeline.

Hannibal blinks, opens his mouth, then closes it. Will thinks that this is the first time he's ever seen the doctor at a loss for words. He takes another moment to speak, an undercurrent of worry soaking through the soothing voice he usually reserves for patients. 

"Will, none of them were there that night. It was just you and I." Will feels as though he's missed a step on the stairs, or someone's ripped the rug out from under his feet. Falling. 

Hannibal's warm eyes wander over Will's disbelieving face, his shaking hands. "I found you in the kitchen, disoriented, having an episode. Your words were slurred, difficult to make sense of. You mentioned our daughter, and told me that you wouldn't let me kill again. When you tried to approach me, you stumbled. I caught you and you stabbed me -" he sees Will's face fall "- _once, feebly,_ and then you collapsed."

The heart rate monitor spikes as panic rises in Will's throat. "Are you sure? No, please don't lie to me. I want to see Alana - I need - Abigail - I need to see them, Hannibal!" 

He moves frantically to get up, to do what or go where he doesn't know, but Hannibal is quickly on his feet with a firm hold on Will's forearms, settling him back down against the pillows.

Hannibal shushes him gently, brushing Will's damp curls away from his eyes. "All in due time, Will. We have to make sure you're stable first."

Will barks a humourless laugh, blinking rapidly. "No, not in due time, I need to talk to Jack _now_. I need him to confirm this for me. Please, Hannibal."

"Take a deep breath for me." Begrudgingly, Will obeys, closing his eyes as Hannibal squeezes his shoulder. Hannibal's eyes drift over to the bedside table, studying the illustration on the book's cover for a moment as he considers Will's wishes. "You can call Jack if you think it would help you."

Hannibal fishes Will's phone out of his pocket and offers it to him, without any explanation of why he has it. Too preoccupied to care, Will takes it, eyes darting up to Hannibal's with a grateful nod.

"I'll give you some privacy." Hannibal says softly, eyes dark as he straightens up and walks to the door, almost resentful of having to leave Will.

Will watches the door swing closed, briefly missing the company, before turning his attention to scrolling through his contacts. 

A notification in the taskbar lets him know that Beverly Katz sent him a video three days ago. Relieved, he makes a mental note to watch it later - right now his focus is on the 'dialling…' blinking across the screen.

Mercifully, Jack picks up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, Jack." Will says quietly, surprised by the sheer relief that Jack's voice sparks.

"Will? You're awake!" By the sounds of it, Jack is just as relieved to hear from him.

"Doesn't feel like it." Will laughs with no mirth, clenching his jaw. "Could you... Could you do me a favour?"

"Of course, anything." Jack says earnestly. Will feels ever so slightly comforted, confident that Jack won't lie to him.

"Does the Chesapeake Ripper mean anything to you?" Will asks, and he doesn't fully know which answer he's hoping for - the one that confirms his sanity or the one that strips him of it.

"No," Jack replies and Will's stomach drops. "Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"

"That's - that's fine." Will says, despite the cold dread creeping through his veins.

Heart racing, he reaches for the blanket again, playing with a frayed edge. "Um, is Miriam Lass alright?"

"Miriam Lass?" Jack sounds surprised that he's asking, as if Will Graham and Miriam Lass do not often cross paths. "She's flying, one of our brightest agents. Took some time off after she lost her arm in that car wreck, but she's come back stronger than ever."

Will digests this quietly until Jack's voice finds him through the haze. "Is there a reason you're asking, Will?"

"Just making sure I gather all the shattered pieces of the teacup." he grits out unconvincingly through a forced smile. His nerves, cold and buzzing under his skin, feel as though they belong to someone else.

He can almost feel the suspicion through the phone as Jack turns this over in his head. When he speaks again, the genuine care in his voice eases Will's remaining doubts. "Any other pieces I can help you with?"

"Just a couple more, then I'll let you go, let you get back to work." Will says, sheepish. Hot guilt flushes through his chest and into his cheeks for calling Jack away from his Head-of-Department sized workload to frantically question him about a delusion.

But Jack replies "Go ahead." level and even, and it's enough to dull the aching tension in Will's shoulders. Jack would undoubtedly devote any length of time to Will's wellbeing, given his current state.

"Were you at Hannibal's? That night?"

"No. I was at home all night, until I got the call to say you were in the hospital." 

Will nods, breathing shakily. "And uh, have you seen Alana recently? I just need to know she's ok."

"Oh, I've seen Dr Bloom recently. Had a lot to say about my part in your… breakdown." Jack says dryly. Will huffs a laugh - he's sure she did. 

He imagines it, not fully submerged, just on the surface; Alana and Jack, both stubborn as mules, each trying to make the other see their side. The Behavioural Science Unit probably drew quite a crowd that day, or maybe a noise complaint.

"And Beverly?" There's no real need to ask; the waiting message indicates she's alive and well, but it can't hurt to get a second opinion.

"Beverly is worried about you, as everyone is, but she's in one piece. You're sorely missed, Will, I had no idea you were so popular."

Will lets out another half laugh to distract them both from the disoriented anxiety building in his chest. "Good, th-that's good to hear. Thank you, Jack. I'll explain… some time."

"I look forward to hearing it." Jack chuckles but Will knows he means it. The line goes thoughtfully quiet for a moment. "Do you blame me, Will?"

"No." Will says immediately. "No, I don't think there's any way you could have predicted this, Jack, no matter how _unstable_ I usually am."

Jack hums softly, content with this response. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Just, um, feeling extra unstable. Unstable with bells on." he adds, mostly to himself.

"Will," Jack says firmly, with a no nonsense conviction that makes Will sit up straight, even though Jack's not there to see it. "I am bedrock. Don't hesitate to lean on me."

Once Jack hangs up the call, Will lowers his head into his hands, anxiously massaging his temples. He tries to do the grounding exercise Hannibal taught him, but only gets as far as his name before he realises he has no sense of time, and no idea where he is. 

Cold prickling panic begins to climb his ribs again. Before it can crescendo, he finds himself thigh deep in the river, fishing rod in his hands, sun on his skin. When he looks towards the green bank, there's nothing lurking, no shadowy antlers waiting to hear him apart.

Hesitantly, Hannibal reappears, eyeing the phone abandoned in Will's blanketed lap. Will looks up, absent look in his eyes fading, replaced by a knotted brow as Hannibal commits to entering the room.

"I didn't hurt anybody else?"

"No." Hannibal says, taking a step forward. He catches Will's eyes wandering along his stomach, wondering where the wound is. "Don't worry about me, Will. It's healing beautifully, and you missed everything vital. I won't be pressing charges, either."

Will blinks, as if he hadn't considered that as a possibility. 

Hannibal lowers himself into the chair, keeping a watchful eye on Will as he scans the horizon, processing. He reaches for Hannibal's hand and Hannibal allows him to take it, lacing his long graceful fingers with Will's.

"How are you feeling after talking to Jack?"

"Overwhelmed." Will admits around an unconvincing smile. "Relieved, obviously that I didn't kill three people I care about, but… I tried to kill you, Hannibal."

"Tried to kill is a strong turn of phrase, Will. You didn't make a very good job of it."

This startles a small laugh out of Will but guilt is still clear in his avoidant eyes. He furrows his brow and swallows thickly, turning his head towards Hannibal with his eyes down.

"I'm, uh... drawing a blank on everything after stabbing you. Mind filling me in?"

Hannibal chuckles softly, eyes bright with affection. "You're in Johns Hopkins hospital. You've been in an induced coma for the past 10 days to allow the swelling in your brain to go down."

"Swelling in my brain?"

"The cause of your episodes, the hallucinations, lost time. Autoimmune encephalitis."

"No, that's what the nurse said, but I had a brain scan, it would've- it would've shown up."

"It did." Hannibal's words cut through his panic like a blade. "Doctor Sutcliffe used another patient's normal scan to afford himself the opportunity to study its effects on you. I may commit a murder yet, Will."

"He's still alive?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Hannibal doesn't seem fazed - just another layer of paint brushed onto the delusion. 

"Georgia Madchen?"

"Receiving treatment for Cotard's delusion, then they will ascertain if she is fit to stand trial."

More bodies unburied. He can smell charred flesh and burnt hair; remembers blood on molars, and the nausea that came with realising how _soft_ , how easily severed facial ligaments are.

A headache begins unfolding behind Will's eye, in the roots of his teeth. Just as he was beginning to get his feet back under him, he's crumbling to the ground again, not sure which memories to trust.

The steady climb of the heart monitor earns him a look of concern. "How are you feeling, Will?" Hannibal repeats.

"Insane. Extremely unstable. Just… all these things, all these… bodies. It's been in my head the whole time. Which is again, a relief, but _none_ of this was real?"

Hannibal stands briefly, drawing Will's panicked eye. He sits back down beside Will against the pillows, and Will's head is on his shoulder before he has the chance to get his legs on the bed.

They sit in silence for a few moments, just listening to Will's breathing steady as Hannibal's fingers card through his hair.

"When can I go home?" he asks at last, knuckles white around a fistful of fabric from over Hannibal's stomach.

"We'll ask one of the nurses, yes? They may want to keep you in for observation, run some more tests."

Will nods against Hannibal's shoulder, unsaid words hovering in the air between them, glittering in the light like particles of dust. Eventually, Hannibal voices them.

"You don't have to come home with me, Will. I can call Alana, arrange for her to pick you up, if you would rather not be alone with me."

"Scared of me, Doctor Lecter?" Will says, only half teasing.

"Not at all."

"Were you? With the knife in my hand?"

Hannibal considers this for a moment, fingers stilling in Will's hair. "No. I was concerned for you, never afraid, even as I felt it sink in."

Will closes his eyes for a second too long and he's standing in Hannibal's kitchen, inches away from the antlered beast, dark as a starless sky. Adrenaline surges through his body, setting his nerves on fire. Will's blade tears through layers of skin, fat, and muscle, blood dripping from his hands. 

With the beast slain, he closes his eyes in relief, in triumph. Finally, he can breathe again without the weight of a demon on his chest. When they reopen, Hannibal is staring back at him, tears and betrayal glistening in his hooded eyes, blood in his mouth. 

The knife clatters to the floor. Will's stomach drops, light-headed nausea blurring his vision as blood pours out of the gash across Hannibal's belly. His breathing labours as he frantically tries and fails to put pressure on the wound with his slick hands. 

"Will…" Hannibal whispers, jaw quivering in shock. Will can't breathe. Can't think. Can't _do anything_ as Hannibal hemorrhages onto the tile, trembling legs betraying his calm but crestfallen face. 

"Will?" Hannibal says again, sounding clearer this time, less far away. His shoulder shifts against Will's cheek, the sensation of wool scratching against stubble making him shiver. 

"I'm here." Will says, with the quiet determination of someone who wants something to be true so badly, they must lie about it - just to hold it in their mouth for a moment. Hannibal, in the flesh, pulls him closer and presses the back of his hand against Will's forehead. He touches Will's bare arm and clicks his tongue, assessing Will to be too cold in his thin t-shirt. 

Will lifts his head out of the way as Hannibal leans forward to retrieve the woollen blanket and drape it around Will's shoulders. He's glad of it with the sweat cooling on his back.

"I don't mind being alone with you if you don't mind being alone with me." Will says eventually, shaking himself back to the present. 

"I don't mind at all. Especially now I'm sure that you're substantially more compos mentis." 

"You're not worried that I may try to re-enact the trauma event?" 

"I think a safe, familiar, non-clinical environment would be good for you. You should be back in your own space recovering as soon as possible. Perhaps with someone you trust for support, physical and emotional." There's a question laying in wait under Hannibal's words.

"Are you asking if you're welcome in that space?" Will says slowly, deliberately, testing the waters.

"Will, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your head is quite literally on my shoulder. I'm playing with your hair?"

Will laughs, a tired but genuine laugh. "You know what I mean. I'm afraid of hurting you again."

"I don't think you need to be." Hannibal says simply. When Will looks up into his eyes, hooded and dark as the sea, he knows exactly what he means. 


	2. cœur meurtri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets to go home, still unsteady on the knife's edge of trusting Hannibal. 
> 
> Depictions of canon typical violence but also the beginnings of domestic fluff - love a good balance! Part one of two because someone needs to take run on sentences away from me.

The hospital, as Hannibal had suggested, did keep Will in overnight for observation. The receptionist had shot him a wary look over her glasses - cataloguing his ashen face, eyebags like bruises as he gripped the edge of her desk to keep himself upright - but didn't challenge him as he discharged himself. 

Will wobbles his way out into the parking lot like a newborn deer, unsteady but ready to run. He _feels_ like a fawn, eyes soft and limbs breakable, spine fragile as glass.

The late afternoon sun briefly strains through the dismal blanket of clouds to gleam on the Bentley and the man beside it. Probably symbolic, Will thinks; the confused air between seasons, cold distance and a ray of hope. 

A proud smile crinkles the corners of Hannibal's eyes as Will approaches unsteadily. 

"Hello, Will." his voice is full of warmth, the heat of promise - Will is cautious not to get too close to the fire. He keeps his eyes trained on Hannibal's leather brogues, hiding underneath long dark lashes. The moorings of the tentative trust they formed in Will's hospital room are built on sand, ready to slip away into the tide at any moment.

Gentleman that he is, Hannibal opens the passenger door and ushers him in. Will eyes him warily, half expecting Hannibal to lure him into a false sense of security then strike before Will even hears his tail rattle. But he manages to get into the car without getting stabbed, and decides to count this as a small victory.

As he buckles his seatbelt, Will toys with the possibility of a staged car "accident", but this is a _several_ hundred thousand dollar car which Hannibal regularly polishes to a mirror like shine. It's also unlikely Hannibal could walk away from a fatal crash unscathed, but maybe he's counting on being injured - a concussion and a few broken bones would make his story more realistic.

Will's mostly just glad to get the headache-inducing smell of hospital floor cleaner out his nose, inhaling leather and Hannibal's cologne.

The drive from Johns Hopkins to Will's house in Wolf Trap lasts around an hour, a not quite comfortable silence hovering between them. 

Will is quiet, partially due to slipping in and out of sleep as he slowly digests the remnants of yesterday's conversation, his innocence. Sleepy is too soft a word, too pleasant a feeling - he feels drained, lethargic, head filled with heavy grey clouds that threaten rain.

Hannibal is quiet so as not to overwhelm Will, who doesn't look like he has the energy to start a conversation, let alone carry one. He settles for glancing over every now and then, watching the steady rise and fall of Will's chest, warmth sparking in his own.

Eventually, Hannibal pulls up in front of Will's house. Surprisingly, his car is in his driveway, not abandoned in Hannibal's. He makes a mental note to ask how that was pulled off later - currently, Will isn't sure he has the energy to move his jaw. 

Hannibal slides the gear stick into park, the air suddenly feeling cold and awkwardly empty without the purr of the engine. 

"Are you ready?" Hannibal asks, concern in his eyes as he studies Will again. Will closes his dry eyes, hauls a deep breath into his aching chest. Nods, head heavy.

By the time Will's fumbling fingers have unclipped his seatbelt, Hannibal has already climbed out of the car and rounded the bonnet to the passenger side. 

The opening crack of the door is sharp in his ears as Hannibal's extended hand enters his hazy vision. Will takes it and shakily exits the car, groaning softly as he stretches his legs, muscles painfully tight from too long in the car.

He tries to avoid Hannibal's eyes, feeling like he's reverted back to his standoffish self when they first met, ducked back into his shell. 

His rational brain tells him he was too quick to trust Hannibal yesterday, a clutch for balance in a moment of vulnerability. 

His gut tells him that Hannibal is his little house with the yellow lights on, a boat on the sea as fog seeps across the flat fields - a place of total safety. 

Hannibal keeps a protective hand to Will's back as he shakily climbs to the porch. Will misjudges the second step, catching the toe of his boot. Before he can pitch forward, Hannibal catches his arm and gives Will a moment to steady himself before they continue up to the porch, planks creaking under their feet.

Will leans against the wall to keep himself upright. The gentle breeze playfully ruffles his dishevelled hair as he looks out across the garden, the grass unbelievably vivid against the slate sky as the golden sunlight lazily trails kisses along it.

Hannibal digs around in his coat pocket, fingers finding Will's keys. He fishes them out by the multitool pen knife keyring, drawing Will's suspicious eye.

"Can I ask why you have my stuff?" Will rasps, avoiding Hannibal's eye with his chin tucked to his chest. Hannibal pauses momentarily, worried eyes boring a hole into the side of Will's aching head before returning their focus to unlocking the door.

"You left your coat at my house. Came in handy since we needed to move your car." Hannibal says simply, and Will doesn't ask who "we" is - he's too tired, and asking questions is only holding him back from sitting down again.

The house feels empty, stagnant, without the clicking of nails on the floor. "Where are the dogs?" Will asks, brow furrowed as Hannibal gently slides his jacket from his shoulders. 

"Still with Alana." Hannibal hangs it neatly on the hook by the door, smoothing out the fabric. He shrugs off his own and hangs it beside Will's.

He turns back to face Will, and finds the younger man swaying like he's on a boat. Will reaches for him, runs his hands along Hannibal's sturdy forearms and holds onto him for balance. 

Will leans forward slowly, cautiously, bringing his forehead to rest against Hannibal's shoulder. He lets out a shivering sigh, eyes squeezed shut as Hannibal's strong hands cradle the back of his head. 

Hannibal sways them both side to side gently, a rocking motion to soothe Will's anxiety, almost slow dancing as he strokes the length of Will's back. 

"How are you feeling?" Hannibal asks, the slight stubble of his cheek bristling against Will's temple. Will feels like he's swimming towards a shark - a move designed to throw the predator off its rhythm, make it reconsider an attack, but it feels so terrifyingly unnatural. 

He feels like every nerve ending in his body on fire with fear, and he has no way to gauge whether Hannibal is the consuming shark or the extinguishing water. He doesn't know which he is either with his goring antlers and blood soaked hands.

Instead, he tells a half-truth with heaving effort, "Like hell. Actually, I feel fluid… like I'm spilling." 

"Alright - I think we should get you a bath, a good meal, and some sleep, yes?"

Will nods weakly against Hannibal's sturdy chest. Hannibal's dexterous fingers card through his curls and he leans into it, immediately feeling conflicted. 

He holds his breath and waits for Hannibal to yank his hair back and bite his throat out, jagged edges of trachea caught in his snaggleteeth. But nothing happens, except a gentle flex of fingers on his scalp.

"I'll draw you a bath." Hannibal guides him to the bed - neatly made with fresh sheets, Will notes - and sits him down. He squeezes Will's shoulder with a smile and heads down the hall.

Hannibal's footsteps sound like stag hooves as he retreats upstairs and Will shivers, seeing antlers and raven feathers behind his eyelids as the water splashes distantly into the tub. 

He tries to take his mind off the self doubt beginning to creep into his thoughts, eyes wandering along the empty dog beds, the stone fireplace, the bookshelves stocked with Richard Siken and Jeanette Winterson.

A thick heavy volume of some sort catches his eye, bound in a Malbec burgundy leather that reminds him of Beverly's favourite jacket. He had forgotten about that message, too wrapped up in his own head.

Will fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket and unlocks it, tapping the notification from Beverly. The accompanying message reads _If I disappear, investigate Zeller first 😂._

Going by the emoji, there's no need for the panic turning to ice in his stomach. Will presses play, clicking the volume button up a few times. Beverly flickers to life on his screen. She records from a low angle, probably under a table, as she looks at someone off screen.

"-Not that I miss him," Zeller's voice is insisting. "All I'm saying is that it's just not the same without him. Don't get me wrong, Dr Lecter's great, but he's not Will."

"Cut the bullshit, Zee. You miss him." Beverly teases playfully, grinning as her dark eyes dart down to the camera.

"No, no, I-" 

"Well I, for one, do miss Will, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it. He's a colleague and a friend." Jimmy Price says, voice far away but adamant.

"Yeah, you eventually get used to him shivering in the corner and hovering over bodies saying shit like-" he imitates Will's voice "- _I had to cut your tongue out to shut you up_. Didn't think I'd miss that out of my day to day, but I guess I do."

"Just say it outright Brian, just admit it, we're here to support you." Price teases in mock reassurance.

"Come on Zee, no judgement." Beverly pushes, mischievous glint in her dark eyes. Will can tell she's having the time of her life winding him up.

"Ok, fine. I miss… having Will around. He's not a bad guy." 

The biggest shit eating grin Will has ever seen creeps across Beverly's face. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that."

Will can picture Zeller's eyes widening as he realises. "Beverly, delete that!"

She throws her head back, cackling, Jimmy laughing along in the background as the video goes blurry then cuts off abruptly.

Will feels a tide of relief wash over him – Beverly smiling like the sun, as _alive_ and brilliant as always, skin glowing, eyes sparkling, the shine off her hair like moonlight on the black sea. Maybe Jack was right – he is missed, and maybe the fellas down at forensics don't feel quite as coldly towards him as they say they do.

"Will?" Beverly says, voice wounded and betrayed. 

Will's head snaps up. They're surrounded by darkness, circling and closing in like a pack of wolves. Beverly stares at him blankly, usually bright eyes dead. 

He reaches for her, to apologise, and slices of her start sliding off from the outside to the middle, sickeningly wet as they hit the floor. 

He flinches away, heart filling his throat, and stumbles back with heavy legs. Squeezing his eyes shut does nothing to combat the cold dread numbing his limbs and buzzing in his ears, trying to convince himself that this isn't real.

"Will?" Abigail says, head tilted like she's been trying to get his attention for a while. He opens his mouth to tell her-

Her eyes grow wide and terrified, a deer in the headlights as her pale throat splits open, leaving her bloodsoaked and choking. 

Will reaches out to catch her but she never falls, just vanishes with a blink - but her blood is hot on his fingers and there's so _much_ of it as it rises and floods over the tops of his boots and Garrett Jacob Hobbs' clouded eyes are watching him in a way that makes bile rise in his throat. _See? You see?_

"Will? Where were you just now?" Hannibal is on his knees in front of him. Will's breathing heavily, confused. He looks around frantically - the darkness is gone. His hands are trembling but clean. He's home.

Will's elbows dig into his thighs, focusing on the sensation to slow his breathing. Hannibal allows him a moment to collect himself, his warm hands gentle in Will's but solid, real – an anchor.

"I'm sorry if I'm... off." Will says eventually. "It's just… you know how in your dreams, people don't always look like themselves? Or-or you're in your living room but when you go upstairs it's your high school cafeteria? That's exactly what this feels like."

"You feel like you're dreaming?"

"I feel like I'm unravelling." Will stretches his jaw with a shiver and an unconvincing half-smile. Hannibal considers this for a moment, thumb stroking a soothing circle over Will's wrist. 

"Is my presence helping or hindering?"

"I think yes, is the answer to that." Will huffs a humourless laugh. "I'm just worried that I may be on the menu tonight."

"I wouldn't consider that until you have your strength back, Will."

Will blinks at him in stunned silence until Hannibal realises his misunderstanding with a slow blink and twitch of his lips.

"Ah, I apologise. You meant cannibalism."

Will tries and fails to stifle a laugh, because these are the kinds of conversations he has now apparently. "Yeah. I might have been too quick to trust you.

Hannibal inclines his head, seeming to find this understandable. "Your gut tells you I am a predator, sharp claws and no mercy."

Will wonders what he has to lose if he's honest - he's already cornered. "No, my gut tells me I'm in safe hands."

Hannibal turns this over in his head, absently studying something past Will's elbow. His lips twitch into a smile which lingers as he speaks, snaggleteeth exposed. 

"Rational thought tells you you're in danger." 

Hannibal reaches up, brushes Will's hair out of his eyes, and suddenly rational thought is out the window. 

"Even the most venomous snakes are nothing to a mongoose." Hannibal says softly with pride in his eyes, thumb trailing like a shooting star across Will's cheek. 

For a second, Will thinks he's going to lean up and kiss him, but he doesn't. Hannibal sits back on his heels and turns his attention to taking off Will's boots. Will is surprised by his own disappointment.

"You're in no danger from me, Will. I can promise you that." Hannibal reassures as he unties Will's laces, sliding the worn fawn brown leather from his feet with a gentleness that tugs Will's heart in another twelve different directions. 

In all his conflicting feelings, he can't tell which part is genuine - whether he or not he wants to trust Hannibal, if he wants to be right about what he's capable of. 

"If you're a venomous snake, it's not me I'm worried for." Will says darkly as Hannibal deftly undoes the other double knot. 

Hannibal considers this, tongue darting out to wet his lips. For a second he looks hurt, and Will's brow twitches, a twinge of guilt spasming through his ribs.

Dark liquid eyes study Will's pale face for a moment, tracing over the tightness of his jaw, his bruise-dark under eyes. Eventually, Hannibal swallows down whatever he may have been about to say, and climbs to his feet.

"Let's get you in the bath. You'll feel better with the hospital bleach out of your pores." he says brightly, offering a hand to Will. Will hesitates, unsure if there will be some sort of retribution for hurting Hannibal's feelings, but finds his hand fits into Hannibal's as naturally as the creek into the rock it carves and molds.

Unfortunately for Will's stiff knees and strained thighs, his bathroom is upstairs - and he could swear someone's added more steps since he last climbed them. 

His mind is not eased by Hannibal's protective hand in the small of his back, visualizing himself falling and taking Hannibal down with him, wooden edges sharp and deadly as they shatter ribs, vertebrae, skulls, fragile as teacups.

Mercifully, and possibly by divine intervention, they make it to the second floor and into the bathroom unharmed. 

Will raises an eyebrow at the twin piles of neatly folded pyjamas and towels waiting for him by the sink, but doesn't question it - of course Hannibal has thought of this in advance.

Will perches on the edge of the bath and swirls his fingers into the heat of the water, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hannibal unpicks the pin from the strap and removes his watch, placing it neatly on edge of the sink.

"Can I see it?" Will asks abruptly, eyes boring through the fabric of Hannibal's shirt. Hannibal pauses unbuttoning his sleeve, turning towards Will.

"I suppose it's time I change the dressing."

Hannibal deftly unbuttons his shirt from top to bottom but nothing feels exciting about this. Guilt is eating a hole in the bottom of Will's stomach as he watches Hannibal's elegant fingers peel off the medical tape and remove the gauze. 

He presents the small line of stitches nestled against his hip, raised slightly against his tan skin and the trail of fine hair over his stomach. Will's mouth goes dry.

"Can I touch or does it hurt?" Will says, immediately feeling stupid. He's been stabbed before, knows the searing pain of the blade and the dull bruised ache of the healing wound. 

"Be gentle. It doesn't feel much worse than a bad bruise." Hannibal says brightly, and Will's chest warms at the way the "b"s cling as they pass his lips.

Will reaches for the wound gingerly, thumb and finger at either end, just barely touching Hannibal's warm skin.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be." Will murmurs as he inspects the needlework, ghosting the tip of his finger along the stitches.

"How bad were you expecting it to be?"

Wordlessly, Will traces one finger in a long horizontal gash across Hannibal's lower belly. Hannibal shivers from both the touch and its proximity to his groin; Will shudders at the thought of that much blood, the blade opening soft flesh as easily as butter.

Will returns his attention to the existing wound, but his eyes are looking through Hannibal. "You're lucky." Will says quietly, guiltily. "I could've hit bone, could have perforated something. A little higher, further left. Could've been fatal."

Hannibal traces the edge of Will's clenched jaw, drawing his attention away from the wound and towards the playful glint in Hannibal's eyes. "We're very fortunate that it was not."

Will's brow furrows, tilting his head. "You don't seem all that fazed that I tried to gut you." he says roughly, screwing his eyes up as they flick from the floor to Hannibal's.

"It was a poor attempt, first of all." Hannibal smiles down at him fondly, edging on amused. Will sighs, exasperated that Hannibal won't just let him be sorry.

He closes his eyes so Hannibal won't see him roll them - he feels like an angsty teenager in a cringey cliche movie, about to pout and stomp his foot and storm off to his room because Mom wants him to take out the trash.

Behind closed eyes, Hannibal chuckles softly, broad hand cupping Will's gaunt cheek. "You believed I was a cannibalistic serial killer who had framed you for my crimes, manipulated you, killed your friends. I would be disappointed if you hadn't made an attempt at revenge." 

Will blinks rapidly, frowning up at him in confusion. "Are you _proud_ of me for stabbing you?"

"I'm always proud of you." Hannibal smiles and Will briefly feels like he's glowing from the praise, a flash of lightning, shoulders unsure whether they should tense or not.

"I've always admired that in you, Will, the potential for darkness. Deserved cruelty."

Hannibal's fingers brush against his neck and Will braces himself for the agonising squeeze around his throat, a speckled trout gasping on the end of his rod. Hannibal just toys with the fabric of his collar.

Will's brow twitches, suddenly feeling very conflicted and very unsafe.

"You like that I shot Hobbs." He grits out, looking Hannibal point blank in the eye. His jaw is taut, muscles screaming from the adrenaline forced through them.

"I don't like it, but it was necessary." Hannibal says, face neutral.

"Kill a killer and the number of killers in the world remains the same." Will jokes humourlessly, bitterness tinging his words like bile. His chest burns from the hike in his breathing and he leans forward to relieve it, resting his palms against the rim of the tub.

"Kill two." Hannibal teases, and something cold and terrified lurches in Will's gut. Hannibal's face falls as he sees the fear staining Will's. He takes a slow and deliberate step back, empty hands firmly in Will's line of sight.

"I apologise, Will." He sounds genuinely guilty. "You're still in a fragile frame of mind. That was irresponsible."

Will's chest immediately glows in forgiveness. "No, you're- you're fine. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for. I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone, but I can call Alana, ask her to keep an eye-"

"No, please stay." Will catches hold of his arm. Hannibal's postures relaxes, angling towards him with interest. 

Will takes a shuddering breath, no longer feeling threatened - instead he feels desperate, desperate for Hannibal to stay, desperate to return to some semblance of normality.

He loosens his grip and Hannibal takes his hand, gently stroking over his knuckles as he waits for Will to speak.

"My head's still a mess but… I can't do this with anybody else." he looks up at Hannibal, pleading. "Please stay."

"No more talk of that, then. The water's getting cold." Hannibal squeezes his hand before dropping it and the subject. 

He re-buttons his shirt, and Will feels safe enough to undress. Hannibal keeps a firm grip on Will's hands as he lowers him into the comfortably hot water with a groan. 

"Lean your head back, I'll wash your hair." Hannibal says brightly, rolling his sleeves up over his tanned forearms.

"Hannibal, you really don't have to do this for me." Will says, guilt in voice as wariness and trust wrestle in his gut. 

"Will," Hannibal says firmly, taking Will's chin and turning his head towards him. "Stop punishing yourself. I've already forgiven you, I forgave you as it happened."

"I could have killed you." Will whispers, chapped lips so close they graze Hannibal's as he speaks.

"You weren't in your right frame of mind. You have to forgive yourself."

Hannibal presses a tentative kiss to the left of Will's mouth, and Will is only fractionally surprised that it doesn't burn into his skin.

"Should you be doing this? With the stitches?" Will asks as Hannibal settles on his knees behind him.

"I assure you, Will," he can hear the smile in Hannibal's voice, and the fear of being throttled fades. "I won't overexert myself. Wet your hair for me."

Will eventually concedes, allows Hannibal's long fingers and broad hands to work 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner through his soaking curls with a gentleness that has to be love, short nails brushing against his scalp every now and then. 

Fight or flight is half-hearted now, the tension of adrenaline seeping out of his muscles like ink into the water. The heaviness of lethargy begins to lift off him, replaced by pleasantly warm sleepiness; the tight ache curled around his shoulders and spine unfurling as Hannibal insists on washing his back.

As the soap lathers, Will grows more and more sure of three things: one, that Hannibal is not a murderer; two, that Hannibal _adores_ him; and three, he adores Hannibal with the same intensity. _He's safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 2 and 3 were originally one piece but I wasn't even halfway finished with a word count over 5000 so I've split it for your reading convenience 💖

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm planning for this to be a 5-6 chapter fic, and I was going to leave it until I had another chapter or two ready, but I was too excited to get this out there. I'm currently working full time as well as university so please understand that this is written when I should be sleeping, in a lecture, or on my lunch break. Also if you see any spelling mistakes, give me a heads up!


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